A near-by squad was making baskets, using a variety of materials. In another room the leather workers were stretching and cutting and wetting and dyeing and tooling bits of leather which were to be converted into purses and card cases and mats, and at another table the bookbinders were exercising the most scrupulous care in the use of their tools upon the delicate designs which they had transferred to their valuable material.
Around the bend in the wall were the noisy crafts, put by themselves so that they might not interfere with the comfort of the quieter toilers. Here the metal workers pounded their sheets of brass and copper, building up handsome patterns upon future trays and waste baskets and lanterns. Here, too, the jewelry makers ran their little furnaces and thumped and welded until silver cups and chains grew under their fingers and settings of unique design held semi-precious stones of alluring colors.
Every student in the whole place seemed alive with eagerness to do his work well and swiftly; they bent over it, smiling, the teachers were calm and helpful; gayety and happiness were in the air.
"I'd really like to spend my mornings up here," murmured Mr. Emerson, "if I only knew what I could do."
"We didn't see the wood-carving room; perhaps you'd like that."
They turned into a door they had passed. A man of Grandfather's age was drawing his design on a board which was destined to become a book rack. Another man was chipping out his background, making the flowers of his pattern stand forth in bold relief. A young woman had a fireboard nearly finished.
"I believe I will come up here," exclaimed Mr. Emerson.
And so it happened that Grandfather's mornings were taken up as much as those of the rest of the family, and it was not long before he was so interested in his work and so eager to get on with his appointed tasks that he spent not only the mornings but almost all day drawing and carving and oiling in the midst of sweet-smelling shavings.
On the way back they stopped for a minute to see Roger's cell in the Hall of Pedagogy, and the boy showed his grandfather with pride his neat array of brooms and rags. As they passed through Higgins Grove and out on to the green in front of the Post Office a great clattering attracted their attention. Men ran, boys shouted, and over and above all rose a fierce and persistent barking.
"It's Cupid! As sure as you're born, it's Cupid!" cried Roger.